


Territorial Squabbles

by Unsentimentalf



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4758398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf/pseuds/Unsentimentalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>...he frequently dreams of simply spacing them all and having both Liberator and glorious solitude...</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Territorial Squabbles

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This is a homage to Paul Darrow’s _Lucifer: Genesis_ ’s Avon, who is a quite delightfully unreconstructed selfish murderous bastard. Sadly his interactions with Blake in the book are rather limited so I fixed that. No spoilers for the book apart from my view of the characterisation. Set earlyish S1, before Orac.

It is the sheer scale of Liberator that makes the whole thing bearable.

The others scurry in groups of two, three or four between their claustrophobically clustered quarters, the galley, the flight deck and the teleport room. The rest of the vast ship is, de facto if not de jure, Avon's kingdom. He would happily live and work in its many rooms permanently, gathering its myriad powers to himself, but he needs to know what Blake is up to – the rest of them don't matter – and though he can communicate with Zen from anywhere the ship can only be fully controlled from the main deck.

So he puts in his time as a "crew member", manning his console dutifully, arguing in a desultory way with Blake and letting the rest of them think that he gains some benefit, however tenuous, from their company. He dislikes having to bother with these minor deceits but they are necessary for the moment. While he frequently dreams of simply spacing them all and having both Liberator and glorious solitude his position isn't yet strong enough to do completely without allies. Besides, Zen is still partly an unknown quantity. If Avon was to kill the alien ship's adopted crew he cannot predict the consequences. Yet.

He is on the main deck being tediously virtuous when Zen announces that there is a small non-natural object ahead of them.

“On screen,” Blake says. They stare at the strange craft. Avon can see massive engines but nothing else.

“What is it?” Blake asks the room.

“It’s a rock pusher,” Jenna says. “They work the asteroid belts, clamp onto a valuable rock and cart it back to the nearest processing station, or dump icerocks onto terraforming projects.”

“Crew?” Blake asks. As it rotates Avon can see a small module that might be habitat.

“Two, generally.”

“Any sign of life, Zen?”

“Negative.”

“Open communications,” Blake says. “See if you can get any sort of response.”

The ship is rotating slowly. To Avon it looks as if it is drifting. “There’s no payload now. I doubt that it’s got anything useful to us in salvage. Not worth the bother of investigating.”

Blake frowns at him. “There might be survivors.”

“Very unlikely,” Avon says. “For an insystemer to be this far out from a star system it must have been drifting for years. It makes no difference anyway. There’s still nothing in it for us.”

Blake’s frown deepens and Avon flickers a brief cold smile at him. He is fairly sure that Blake, at least, believes that he does no more than play devil’s advocate at times like this. He won’t push the point; he knows that nothing will stop Blake from investigating the piece of space debris and Avon makes a point of never investing more than a few pithy comments in support of arguments that he won’t win. Still, when he has Liberator to himself there will be no unprofitable rescue missions, futile or otherwise.

“Why do you have to be so unpleasant?” Vila complains.

“Someone on this ship has to counter the mass tendency to sentimentality.” Avon tells him. It’s not the real reason, of course. The real reason is that he cannot bear to pretend to be enough like them to pass. He suspects that if he tried he would still come across as oddly cold and selfish and some of them at least would be deeply suspicious of his motives. So he tells them some of what he thinks and half the time they assume he’s lying to cover some embarrassing streak of humanity. Sometimes that amuses him.

They watch through the camera on Jenna’s suit as she turns round. There is no exploration necessary- everything in the tiny habitat module is within six feet of the open airlock.

“No bodies” she says, unnecessarily. “Everything seems to have been shut down. I think it’s been deliberately abandoned.”

“Try powering it up,” Blake suggests. Jenna is already at the controls. Lights flicker for a second then it goes dark.

“Out of juice. I can’t even run the diagnostics. There’s no way to tell if there’s a malfunction or not.”

“A remarkably ungripping mystery.” Avon says. “Why should we care if it’s broken or not? It’s no use to us either way.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Blake is gazing intently at the screen. “Jenna, you might as well teleport back. We’ll manoeuvre to pick it up. It will just about fit in the sixth aft hold if that nitrates tank in the middle is shifted back against the wall. ”

Avon narrows his eyes at Blake while the man is distracted by the screen. He hasn’t been previously aware that Blake carries any detailed knowledge of the holds or their contents in his head. He is slightly put out. Liberator is his territory and Blake is supposed to be oblivious.

“Are you going to tell us what you want it for, or is this going to be one of your less than delightful surprises?” he demands.

“Probably the latter,” Blake says cheerfully. “Give me a hand moving that tank, will you? Zen, pressurise the hold and give us a breathable atmosphere and one tenth standard gravity.”

“Affirmative,” the ship’s computer says.

“Affirmative,” Avon mimics Zen’s tone. As he follows his leader up the corridor he wonders yet again if most of his sarcasm even registers with Blake.

The container has a great deal of mass and even in the reduced gravity it is not easy to manoeuvre. By the time they are done Avon is sweaty and bad tempered. His mood is not improved when he notices Blake still behind him halfway back to his quarters.

Avon stops. “Where are you going?”

Blake shrugs. “Following you. I thought you might be going somewhere interesting. I don’t often come to this part of the ship.”

“I’m going for a shower and a change of clothes,” Avon tells him. “You’re welcome to come and watch if that's the sort of thing you find interesting but I imagine you will want to be going that way.” He gestures back the way they’ve come. “Second on the left will take you back to your comfort zone.”

He is not impressed to find that Blake is still on his heels two paces later. “What are you doing?” he demands.

“You said I was welcome,” Blake is smiling.

“I obviously didn’t mean it!”

“That’s a pity. I was rather hoping that you did.”

“And how do you expect me to respond to that?” Avon asks.

“You could be flattered.”

Avon’s answering smile is scornful. “When rich, powerful and beautiful women proposition me I might admit to feeling slightly flattered, but I’m a long way out of your league, Blake. I’m sure one of your devoted disciples will be willing to cater to whatever needs you have. I’m not interested.”

Blake still seems cheerful. “That’s a clear enough answer, at least, if not polite. How often do these paragons of wealth and beauty proposition you, incidentally?”

“Too often for my peace of mind,” Avon tells him with perfect accuracy.

“You’d rather just be left alone?

“Exactly.”

“I’m sorry,” Blake tells him with every appearance of sincerity. “It must be a strain to keep the entire world at arms length all the time.”

“Oddly enough I don’t find it difficult at all.” Avon says. “I’ll see you back on the main deck.”

“Have a pleasant shower,” Blake wishes him and walks off away from him at last.

Avon has a long shower. He is thinking. He is concerned. The strategy of staying with the Liberator is predicated on the assumption that Roj Blake is no more complicated than he seems. Avon has already discovered that Blake’s actions are less predictable than he initially expected but the man’s motivations, at least, have always appeared straightforward enough.

When it comes to sex Blake’s likely preferences had barely seemed worth spelling out. Men like Blake choose partners who are wholesome, pretty, devoted to the appropriate causes, suitably admiring and generally of the opposite sex. No-one on board seems entirely Blake’s type but Avon had been sure that their grand leader would decide at some point that he had fallen in love with either Jenna or Cally, assuming that he had a libido within conventional levels and no-one else more suitable presented themselves in the meantime.

Instead Blake has made a pass at him. Either this reflects a genuine sexual attraction (and the belief that it might be reciprocated) or it is a feint for some unknown purpose. Either way Blake is operating well outside the parameters that Avon has come to expect from his assessment of the man. Either way is disturbing.

He considers the matter logically as he stands in the drier. Perhaps Blake is one of those who are only attracted to other men, which gives him a different set of options, or lack of them. Avon is no more likely to lower his standards enough to accept Blake than Blake is likely to abase himself with either Vila or Gan but Blake might not see it that way. He is, after all, used to people telling him how important he is. He may have come to think of Avon as in some degree equal.

It’s still not enough. Avon pulls the clean shirt on, scowling at his own reflection in the mirrored wall. Even if Blake has overestimated his own attractiveness and Avon’s willingness to go slumming far below his usual standards, the Roj Blake he has been observing is not the kind to go in for purely recreational sex with someone he considers, however inaccurately, to be part of his crew.

That leaves Avon back where he started. He doesn’t understand Blake’s motives. Avon doesn’t want to be trapped on a spaceship, however valuable, if it is being flown around the galaxy attacking dangerous things under the command of someone he can neither predict nor control.

He is still thinking about the matter as he walks back towards what he regards as Blake's part of the ship. His first instinct is to arrange for his unreliable suitor to meet with an accident. On consideration he thinks it is a little early for that. Avon doesn’t really want to precipitate a confrontation with the rest of the crew and he wants more time to work on understanding Zen’s likely reactions before he takes control of the ship. Having the others around to crew her while he studies has been working quite well for him so far.

The ship is not currently engaged in any dangerous activities. Avon has time to work out what the other man is up to. If he can't then neutralise Blake's intentions then that will be the time to reconsider neutralising Blake. 

As Avon walks onto the bridge, Blake's eyes flicker down his front and up again to his face, eyebrows raised. Avon gives him his most enigmatic smile and takes his place at the console. 

It is several hours later, after they have finally manoeuvred the ship around the spinning craft, when Blake catches Avon in a corner away from the others.

"You appear to have sprouted armour all of a sudden." He gestures at the spiked leather. "I hope you don't feel you need to put up any defenses on my account." 

Avon smirks at him. "Not at all. Go on, try something. I've been wondering how good the med unit might be at regrowing appendages. You'd make the perfect test subject." 

Blake looks slightly taken aback. "I was speaking about metaphorical defences. Of course I've no intention of violating your personal integrity. I'm a little concerned that that even needs to be said." 

Violating his personal integrity? Avon sometimes wonders what planet Blake had really been raised on. Not the same one as anyone else, apparently. "Well thank you for that. I will sleep much better at night knowing that you don't intend to rape me." 

Blake's expression switches from bemused to furious. "That's not even remotely funny." 

"I imagine not. That's why I'm so grateful that you've definitely ruled the possibility out. That is what you were saying, isn't it? "

"I made a pass at you." Now it seems that the man's feelings are hurt. "It maybe wasn't particularly smooth and I understand now that it wasn't welcome but you have no basis whatsoever for accusing me of any sort of misconduct." 

"I'm accusing you of nothing. You're the one whose imagination seems to be running away with him." Avon decides to leave it at that. "Now if we're done with your scrap collection I could do with a meal and some rest." He turns away from Blake and catches the rest of the crew watching them. Only Cally meets his eyes before she too turns away. 

The next few days are quiet. Blake and Jenna spend much of their time in the hold trying to get the wreck working again. From what Avon overhears it's not a straightforward task. He doesn't offer his assistance and no one seems to expect it. Instead he switches his attention between Zen's infuriatingly inhuman programming and a study of the part of the galaxy where they have come more or less to a halt with respect to the local fixed stars. 

They are well outside the boundaries of the Federation. There are few settled planets and those barbaric and impoverished. The planetary system with the early traces of terraforming that the rock pusher must have come from is very slowly receding behind them. 

None of the local star systems would seem to be of any interest to the Federation, or to Blake. They are certainly of no interest to Avon. It is his shift alone on the main flight deck and he is running a couple of new power saving protocols through Zen when Blake comes in. 

"Avon. Jenna and I have finished going over the mechanics on the rock pusher. Whatever's wrong with it must be in the computer system. "

Avon doesn't lift his head from the console. 'So?" 

"So would you mind taking a look at it?"

"Why should I bother?" 

"Because it would be useful for me and very little trouble for you. It's not dangerous and you've got the time and the skills." He frowns at Avon's blank expression. "While you're on this ship I see no reason to expect you not to pull your weight. Are we going to disagree about this?" 

Avon considers the matter briefly. Blake has control of the others and by extension the ship. It is still far too early to launch a coup and it doesn't suit Avon's long term plans to be ousted from Liberator. "I'll look at the computer system tomorrow." 

Blake nods satisfaction. "Thank you, Avon. I appreciate it." 

"I'm not doing it to be appreciated. I'm doing it because you've just given me no choice. "

"Still," Blake says, "I do appreciate it. Can I get you a coffee?"

Avon thinks sourly of Pavlov's dogs. "Black, one sugar." 

"Will do." Blake strolls out again, smiling. 

It takes a day and a half to trace the fault in the rock pusher's programming and fix it. Blake refuses to up the temperature in the hold significantly above zero because of the chemical tank so Avon had to work in the discomfort of an environmental suit, hands gloved and awkward. Blake refers to the inconvenience several times briefly and cheerfully. Avon presumes this is Blake's way of gloating about his small victory and he ignores it. It occurs to him eventually that Blake may bizarrely intend it as camaraderie, but he still ignores it. 

"It's working." Avon emerges from the hold for what he hopes will be the last time, strips off the gloves and lifts his mask. He takes a deep breath of the ship's warm air. 

"Good. Thank you." Blake steps forward to reach for Avon's toolbox. "Shall I take that for you?" 

"What do you intend to do with it?" Avon doesn’t relinquish the handle. 

"Hold onto it while you get out of that lot?"

"It has a flat base. It sits perfectly well on the floor." Avon puts the box down as demonstration. 

Blake looks down at it. "So it does. I might have known that you'd have all the angles covered." He grins at his own poor pun. " Shall I leave you to it, then?"

"Unless you have any other purpose in being here." 

"Not really, no. Thank you again."

Avon watches Blake leave. What was that all about? He'd done no more than Blake had required and they were both aware that he'd done it under compulsion. He is tiring of Blake’s sarcastic mockery of gratitude.

Avon has manipulated himself into in a number of situations over the years because they were useful or profitable or educational. He doesn't realistically expect to find himself in the company of people he likes doing things that make him happy, at least not yet. When all his plans finally come together and he has power and wealth and influence and his foot on the neck of the few of his enemies that still survive- then he will enjoy himself. 

Even so he is enjoying the time on Liberator less than anywhere else he's been and that includes the Federation prison ship. Blake is responsible, of course. Blake who should not be capable of being a serious antagonist, who's quite clearly incapable of rationally figuring out how to get under Avon's skin. Yet there he is over and again almost as if he is repeatedly blundering into arguments and winning them by accident. Avon is starting to actively dislike him which is ridiculous, like hating Zen or the food processor. Blake is no more than a tool to help Avon keep out of the Federation's reach and eventually acquire Liberator. He's not important enough to hate. 

Avon removes his name from the rota for his next few scheduled flight deck shifts, just to show that he can. In fact he decides to avoid Blake's part of the ship entirely for a couple of days. After twenty four hours Cally contacts him via Zen. 

"Is everything all right, Avon?"

"As fast as I'm aware there are no current problems onboard. I suggest that you ask Zen if you're concerned." 

"Good. Just checking."

That's not a question so he ignores it. No-one contacts him again for the next full day. He gets a lot of work done, his mood improves and he decides that he should take a sabbatical more often. 

Then the ship starts going somewhere. Zen provides Avon with information about the planetary system which is their new destination. It's inside the Federation borders and has an asteroid mining belt, which strikes Avon as likely to be significant to whatever Blake's planning but nothing else distinguishes it from a hundred other systems. He considers reappearing on the flight deck and demanding to know Blake's intentions but there's a day or so yet and it would be better if Blake comes to ask for his help.

Thirty hours later Liberator had taken up a high orbit over the largest gas giant and nobody has spoken to Avon at all. He could just ignore whatever Blake is up to but the man is reckless and Avon had a stake in Liberator. He can't afford to let Blake do anything that he pleases with the ship.

"Avon!" Blake's smile is wide as Avon enters the flight deck. "Good to see you. Would you mind monitoring comms and teleport for us?" 

"Would I mind?" Avon glances around at the others them back to Blake. "That's a strange way of phrasing an order."

"It isn't an order," Blake says. "I was a bit high handed last time. I'm sorry. I'm sure you'd have helped anyway. I do understand you being a bit upset. I was going to come and apologise but I wasn't sure that you'd want to be disturbed and then this took over." 

Avon feels a surge of annoyance at the hypocrisy. "So it's nice guy again now we have an audience? I wasn't upset, Blake. I understand the dynamics on this ship perfectly well. You will continue to try to get your way by any means at your disposal; charm, coercion or indeed copulation. How am I required to earn my keep this time?"

"You're not required to do anything." Blake flushes red. "If you've no interest in the success of our joint endeavours we can manage perfectly well without you. In fact under those circumstances I'd much prefer not to have to rely on you at all." 

"Very well," Avon says. "Is this scheme of yours going to put Liberator at risk?"

"No." 

"Then I'll sit this one out. I have a rather long paper on AI and tachyon particles to read. Have fun," Avon says to the room in general as he walks out. 

Avon sets Zen up to report on Liberator's movements and external communications but otherwise takes no interest whatsoever in Blake's plan relating to the rock pusher. It is possibly illogical of him - information is after all power- but if he knows nothing about whatever trouble they are in he will not need to consider taking any action to rescue them. Logically he knows that he will need Blake and his crew for a while yet but right now he won't be particularly sorry if they all meet with some lethal mishap. 

They don't. Zen reports everyone back on board approximately six hours later at which point Liberator sets off at a fast pace. Three Federation pursuit ships barely register on the screens before they are left well behind. Hold 6 no longer contains the rock pusher but the internal cameras show that hold 7, pressurised and oxygenated, has been taken over by what appears to be a large tribe of ragged and emaciated strangers. A rescue mission, then. Avon interrogates Zen about their new course. Several days travel, it seems, to a quiet non federation system. There is no hurry to talk to Blake about it, or indeed anything. He curls up in his bunk and goes back to reading his paper. 

The knock comes after another hour or so. Avon sighs, puts his reader aside. “Yes?"

Blake pushes the door open, glancing around with clear curiosity. "That was a longer walk than I expected. I didn’t realise your rooms were quite that far from the rest of us." 

"I prefer it that way. What do you want?"

"I thought you might like to meet our guests."

Avon frowns. "Are any of them galaxy-renowned computer specialists?" 

"I doubt if any of them have ever seen a computer up close before today." 

"Then no. Don't let me keep you from your social obligations however." He waves at the door.

Blake steps inside instead. “Actually I think you and I ought to talk." 

"Really? What sort of talk is it to be this time? Strong arm? Smarmy? Sarcastic? Or maybe we're back to seductive? I'm finding your conversational style a little unpredictable."

"Sarcastic?" Blake sits down on the only chair, at Avon's desk. "The others I suppose I might be guilty of but I always leave the sarcasm to you." 

“What do you want, Blake?” Avon stretches out his legs along the bed. “You have the adoration of rescued people to bask in, a crew to order around and a working computer system. I fail to see what you can need from me right now.”

“Do you really?” Blake frowns. “I suppose maybe you do. Everything went without a hitch today.”

Avon blinks at the change of subject. “What a clever little revolutionary you are. Congratulations. Your point being that you didn’t need me, I presume.” He wonders if Blake is planning to evict him from Liberator and if the man thinks he’ll go quietly. There’s a knife under his pillow. Has Blake told the others of his intentions or not?

“That would be a stupid point,” Blake says. “It could just as easily have gone wrong. I need everyone I can get. The question is, Kerr Avon, whether you’re someone I can get or whether you’re going to just sit around on the ship next time we risk our lives and every time after that.”

“And if I choose the latter?” Avon shifts himself up the bed a little, his fingers curling.

“Then the chances are that sooner or later you’ll end up in that solitude you so much crave, because I won’t be able to pull these stunts off for long without you. I don’t think you’ve figured out how to fly Liberator on your own yet, though I know you’ve been working on it.”

Avon looks at those seemingly guileless eyes. “You’re saying that we both need each other to stay alive? I think I’m more likely to die alongside you than on my own.”

“You might be able to stay alive without the rest of us but you wouldn’t keep Liberator for long. I get the impression that you want her a great deal.” 

Blake has been watching him more closely than Avon has thought and his conclusions are infuriatingly accurate. Avon has to resist the ridiculous temptation to argue for the sake of it. It doesn’t matter if he admits that Blake is right, as long as the outcome is optimal for him.

“And suppose that I do apply my efforts to helping keep you alive, how does that assist me in ending up with what I want?”

Blake smiles at him. “It doesn’t, not directly. I need Liberator. I’m not going to bargain her over to you later for services rendered and the others might have something to say about it if I tried. Still, things might change in all sorts of ways. The question is whether you want to hang around being part of my gang in the hope of ending up with the most valuable ship in the galaxy somehow or whether you’re going to give up and seek your fortune somewhere else.”

Avon pauses for a moment, thinking. When he speaks again his voice is soft. “Well now. This has been a remarkably open and informative conversation, hasn’t it? I think we both know roughly where we stand.”

He swings his legs over so that he’s sitting upright on the edge of the bed, looking straight at Blake. “One question remains, however. I don’t underestimate my considerable talents and it appears that you don’t either. But can they really be worth so much to you that you’ll invite a man to work beside you when you know he’s got a knife at your back, waiting?”

He sees Blake’s eyes flicker towards the pillow then back up to him. Damn the man. Has he no secrets left at all? Blake’s voice is still cheerful.

“I’m not worried about your knife, Avon.”

“Maybe you should be.” Avon snarls. He doesn’t like being underestimated by Blake, which is peculiar when he thinks about it because being underestimated by one’s opponents is generally extremely useful.

Instead of replying Blake starts to unlace his jacket. Avon frowns at him but says nothing. The shirt is next. Blake clasps his hands around the back of his head and turns away. 

“One knife, one back. Are you going to do it or not?”

It would need to be just there, driven hard up under the ribs on the left hand side, piercing the lung. Blake would drown almost immediately in his own blood. The knife is slender and sharp, low tech and perfect for the job. Avon could easily plant both weapon and body in the refugees’ hold, manipulate Zen’s records and take over Liberator and its crew.

He wonders how much of this Blake has figured out. The man’s smooth skin doesn’t twitch. Avon finds himself looking at the interlaced hands in Blake’s curls, fingers short and strong, imagining them wrapped round his own wrist, or neck, or… Enough. This is definitely enough. “I don’t take your orders,” he tells Blake, “and I don’t need you offering yourself to me.” That double entendre is unintentional and awkward; he almost stumbles over the next few words. “If this little roleplay makes you feel safer, you’re a fool. But I’ll work with you for now.”

Blake doesn’t turn round. “I don’t have to put my clothes back on,” he says to the empty air. “I will, of course, if that’s what you want. I don’t want to harass you and I know you’ve said no once and very definitely at that. And yes I know I should find someone I like and who likes me and who I can trust and care for, but it turns out that it’s thinking about your eyes on my bare skin that drives me crazy so I’m going to ask you just one more time. Then the subject will be closed for good.”

Avon is preparing to pour scorn on Blake’s pathetic crush but his eyes catch those interlocked fingers again. There is a temporary silence.

“What exactly are you offering to do?” he asks, tone deliberately cold.

Blake shrugs. The effect of all that bare skin shivering is rather appealing. “What would you like? It’s sex. I don’t have a tick list. If it helps right now I’m mainly thinking about ways to make you come screaming with pleasure.”

Avon is accustomed to self restraint. It’s usually necessary to achieve long term goals. He can’t remember the last time he had sex merely for recreation’s sake. There’s always a good strategic reason for saying yes or, more often, saying no. 

Too much information has been dumped on him by Blake in the last half hour. He genuinely doesn’t know what the strategic response is. He’s agreed to work with Blake, for now at least. Does that make sleeping with the man a sign of strength or weakness? Which of them will dominate the sexual relationship and will that inevitably bleed over into their other power struggles? Will it consolidate his position as second in command with respect to the rest of the crew or will they think of him as merely an adjunct to Blake? Can he afford to let Blake see him in the irrational throes of sexual consummation, and can he use Blake’s own passion against the man? 

He wants to see Blake completely naked. He wants to do things, to twist and redden that smooth white skin. He wants Blake’s mouth and hands on his own erection. He doesn’t trust any of his own reactions right now. Maybe he should have used the damn knife. He is aware that he still can. 

“Get dressed,” he tells Blake, “and get out. If I want you back I’ll call.” 

“Is that a maybe?”

There is nothing to lose by admitting that much right now. “Yes.”

Blake turns round. His arousal is evident enough but he dresses without any hesitation. At the door he pauses. “I’m glad we’ve reached an accord about your co-operation on Liberator. For the rest… I’ll await your decision with interest.” 

“I imagine that you will. Goodbye.”

As the door locks Avon throws himself back on the bed and unlaces his leggings with shaking fingers. Blake’s fingers, his white skin over muscles… it doesn’t take Avon more than a couple of minutes to come with a great deal more intensity than jerking off usually produces. Now maybe he can reason logically. 

It takes a long time to be sure of his conclusions; nearly fifteen hours. Avon has eaten twice, slept for five hours and found it necessary to masturbate another three times to keep his sexual fantasies about Blake from becoming intrusive. No-one has bothered him in that time. 

“Zen, where is Blake?”

“Roj Blake is in his quarters.”

“Is he asleep?”

“Affirmative.”

Good. “Open a channel to his quarters. Blake!”

There is a pause, then a bleary voice. “Avon? Problem?”

“Not at all. Be in my quarters in twenty minutes.”

“What do you want me to do? Run all the way? I’ll be there in however long it takes. Zen, close channel.”

Avon sits back, somewhat amused. He had wondered if he could get Blake to run. He hopes the man doesn’t deliberately linger, though; having come to his decision Avon wants to go through with it without any delay.

The knock thirty six minutes later is about as early as Avon could have reasonably expected. “Come in,” he calls. 

Blake’s wearing a little less than usual during the daytime, but a little more than he would normally sleep in. Very similar in fact to Avon’s choices. They are both hedging their bets a little against rejection, it seems. 

“Have you come to your conclusion?” Blake is still standing in the doorway. 

“I have a few questions first.”

Blake laughs. “I thought you might, somehow. Going with your gut really isn’t your sort of thing, is it, even after a day’s consideration? Question away.” He comes inside. Avon is sitting on the bed in a not particularly welcoming kind of way so as he predicts Blake takes the chair again.

“Do you expect an emotional component to this relationship?”

Blake’s knuckles are at his mouth as he thinks. Avon finds the gesture arousing but then he finds most physical aspects of Blake sexually arousing at the moment. “I’ve never had a relationship that hasn’t had an emotional component. I wouldn’t be entirely surprised to hear that your experience was different to that.” He smiles at Avon. “I’m not sure that I have any expectations in that area at the moment. Hopes, undoubtedly, but not expectations.”

Avon is fairly sure that Blake is telling the truth. It will do. There will be little point in starting the disruption involved in screwing Blake if the man is going to go off in a huff after a couple of sessions because he doesn’t get hugs and kisses. A few forlorn hopes, on the other hand, should keep Blake in his bed long enough for the whole thing to be worthwhile. People who long for the impossible are easy to manipulate.

“Any more questions?” Blake asks.

That had been the deal breaker. Everything else is either just curiosity or Avon will have to find out as he goes along. Talking of which… “Any strange kinks I should know about?”

“Just you.” Blake’s smile is huge. “But that was an unexpected one.” 

Yes, it was. Avon is beginning to suspect that with careful handling Blake and the Liberator is going to be putty in his hands. He’s not sure why he didn’t think of seducing the man himself. This way is better though. This way should have Blake desperate to keep him, desperate to please.

He can’t think of any need to wait further so he slides up the bed. “Come on then. I’ve got nothing better to do at the moment.”

There is some kissing, which is less boring than he usually finds it and Blake undresses him, asks for the lubricant and then puts those solid fingers pretty much everywhere possible in a fairly systematic and experimental way. It’s an approach that Avon rather approves of, particularly as Blake’s other hand has been mostly around Avon’s cock working out exactly what movements there get the best reaction. Blake brings that same ridiculous intensity to sex as he does to trying to save the galaxy from the Federation, but this time it’s aimed towards a far more important goal. 

“Take your clothes off,” Avon tells him because he doesn’t want to get in the way of what Blake’s doing by fumbling around with them himself.

“Lazy sod,” Blake murmurs, and sits up to strip off. Avon decides that maybe he will do some fumbling around after all because he wants to see Blake’s face when his hand closes around the man’s balls, and they feel good so he strokes the silken hard cock as well and God, the man’s face is a picture. 

“Avon,” Blake says aloud. “Kerr… no, that doesn’t really work, does it?”

“No it doesn’t,” Avon tells him. “No endearments, no diminutives. We’re fucking, not setting up home together.”

“Delightfully put,” Blake says. “How would you like to fuck?”

Avon’s been rather taken with the feel of Blake’s fingers up his arse. It’s not a sensation that he replicates on his own. “You can have me on my back and then you can suck me off.”

“I can indeed.” Blake sounds amused. “In fact I can’t think of anything that would please me more.” He slides down between Avon’s thighs. “Generally,” he says, slightly breathless as he enters carefully, “I fantasise about the other way round, but I’ve imagined doing this enough times as well.” A short gasp as he settles deep. “Good?”

“Shut up!” Avon says sharply. The pressure of Blake’s cock feels bloody good but he doesn’t want to have a conversation about it.

“Sorry.” Blake’s looking down at him. Avon can’t read his expression. He trusts that his own is equally inscrutable. He suddenly wonders if Blake intends to try to kiss him while screwing him. That would be annoying.

“Make it hard,” he tells Blake. “Don’t pussyfoot around.” 

Blake blinks in what looks like slight dismay, then nods. “As you like.” 

Avon certainly can’t complain of excessive pussyfooting; he hasn’t been screwed that hard for decades. It’s more than a little uncomfortable given that he’s out of condition, but he’ll be damned if he’ll protest or rein the man in now. And it is certainly good, it’s just a little too rough to be perfect. Blake is clearly getting off on it well enough; it doesn’t take long before he’s gasping, jerking out abruptly and then collapsing on top of Avon. 

“Give me a second,” he murmurs into Avon’s chest. “Just get my breath back.”

Avon has been temporarily battered into limpness again anyway. “Take your time,” he says magnanimously. It won’t take long for him to get hard again, not with his cock pressed against Blake’s hot thigh and the scent of the man’s sweat wafting up from his curls.

Blake takes the blow job a fair bit slower and this time Avon lets him go at his own pace. It’s long and very pleasurable and the thought of plenty more like it in the future makes the final orgasm even sweeter. 

Avon lies on his back afterwards, the other man’s arm warm around his shoulders, his eyes closed and his chest still heaving. He’ll throw Blake out in a minute or two. Right now he’s just going to listen to his own heart beating and congratulate himself on what a good idea this has been. 

“We need to talk,” Blake says in his ear.

“Wrong,” Avon says. “Shut up or go away.”

“Let me rephrase that,” Blake says. “I’m going to talk. I’m not a lovesick idiot, you know. I do know exactly what you’re like.”

“And what’s that, then?” Avon doesn’t open his eyes. 

“You’re a selfish manipulative bastard with no scruples and very little regard for human life except your own.”

“In that case I don’t think much of your choice of lover,” Avon says.

“Me neither. Apparently it can’t be helped though. Still, I intend to minimise the damage by not letting you get away with anything as a result of this.” His hand slides down Avon’s groin, petting his curled damp cock. “If you think you can play games with me you’re wrong.” 

“We’re always playing games,” Avon points out. “You’re not truly naïve enough to think otherwise, are you?”

“Maybe we are,” Blake says, after a pause. “But none of those games are going to involve me doing what you want so that you’ll carry on sleeping with me.”

Avon opens his eyes. “That sounds a little simplistic, I agree. Don’t you think I can probably manage something rather more sophisticated in the way of sexual coercion?” 

He feels Blake’s sigh across the man’s whole body. “I’m just trying to tell you that I’m wise to you so you don’t need to embarrass either of us trying.”

“If you’re convinced of that,” Avon says cheerfully, “it will make my job even easier. Now go away. I want a shower and some sleep. You can come back in seven hours time. Wear something a little skimpier next time.” 

He curls up in bed on his own a little later. He’s actually quite pleased that Blake doesn’t intend to be a complete pushover. It reduces the chances of Avon getting bored with the whole affair too soon. His hand drifts down to his groin. A few more stage directions, a lot of experimentation; maybe being stuck on the Liberator with the unpredictable Blake in charge isn’t going to be so annoying after all.


End file.
